I wish

there was a world without suffering, without pain, without him in it.  The man who smiled in the candlelight at me, who pulled me from the water as I gasped for air, for life only to have made me suffer, feel that pain until the day I died.  The day he held me under the surface too long.  The day I really drowned; not play anymore. He couldn't revive me that time. He had messed up, pushed too far.  I hadn't even struggled I had dove deeper I wanted it to be over, my only choice, my only chance to escape was my death.

The way he pulled me from the water, and stroked my hair, kissed my forehead and told me that I was a good girl.  Oh how he loved me he would go on. Clean me up, dry and warm and tuck me into bed, after he had done all he liked to me.

Psychopath would be a nice name for him, he is a monster.  Although he may be sobbing into my cold wet chest, he doesn't feel it like a normal human being, its not the first time this has happened. I am not his first.

As he plunged my head under the water this time had felt different and I welcomed it. Death, my final escape.

As he lifts his head from my body, his eyes like that of a child full of remorse and sadness they go dull, angry, accomplished as he pulls his lips into a smirk and drags my body to the hole in the ground just outside the door next to the row of markers, I'm number thirteen.